The Guilty Ones
by Swamy
Summary: There is a part of herself Bonnie would like to kill, so she wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore.
1. Chapter 1

**Note:** This story is darker than my usual. Warning for torture.

#

At some point, no matter who they are, everyone dreamed of being someone else—skinnier, prettier, smarter, a princess from a fairytale, the singer of a girl band, the model on the cover of their mother's copy of _Vogue_ _,_ the girl that always gets picked first during school games.

Sometimes, when Bonnie splashes fresh water on her face and raises her head to see her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she wishes she could see someone else, anyone else. Anyone else who's not, in any shape or form, related to what happened to the girl that sleeps peacefully in a coffin, someone that does not need to feel responsible for the time her friend is losing, for the love her best friend is needing.

But once the initial frustration settled, Damon has decided that this damn situation is not her fault. He's decided they can get through this together, that she's stuck with him for the next sixty years, give or take. She thought that was what she wanted to hear but now whenever he makes plans for them, she feels like she's trying to take Elena's place. Damon calls her his best friend, but his best friend should not be the reason why he's apart from the love of his life, and his best friend shouldn't hold her breath whenever he touches her.

Bonnie is not stupid enough to not know what's happening. She managed to keep her post traumatic stress at bay in worse situations, but this was the last drop. And because no one is blaming her and forcing her to face all the reasons why she's as much a victim in Kai's scheme as Elena is, she's taken the role of the executioner.

She's been avoiding Damon for days, trying to regain some sort of balance while his messages pile up on in the memory of her phone. She's trying to concentrate on her studying. She's taken up meditation, and she feels like she's one step closer to exorcizing her demons, and yet never close enough be rid of them.

When she opened the door to trouble, she was fully conscious of what she was doing, but she knows herself. She knows her strength.

She noticed him while she was going back to her dorm, hands in his pocket, looking around the campus like he was in a pastry shop and didn't know where to start sinking his teeth in. And because she didn't come away from fifteen years of friendship with Caroline without knowing how to do a few tricks, she lets her notebooks fall from her hands, frowning down at her clumsiness. The pen rolled away, stopping against the boot of the handsome stranger. As she crouched down to pick up her stuff, he appeared in front of her, lowered to her level, offering the red pen and a beautiful smile.

"I believe this is yours," he said, studying her face.

Bonnie's smile was a bit shy as she accepted his help and pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, her hand sliding down her neck lazily while her eyes looked down faking embarrassment. He watched her so intently that he didn't even remember to blink.

"Do you believe in magic?" he asked in a tone that betrayed wander, making her look up. She didn't know if it was his standard approach or if it was genuine but she really didn't need to know. She needed one thing alone from him.

"Because I do," he explained, smiling at her, his pupils growing larger when he added, "This must be fate."

Bonnie nodded, eyes fixed to his, her heart beating a bit faster from the adrenaline as she opened the door of her dorm to invite him inside. But she knows herself. She knows her strength, she thinks as she closes the door quietly, murmuring something, and turning around to look him in the eyes.

His smile falls abruptly as he stares into his own face.

"Who are you?" the words roar out of his and yet his voice is unrecognizable to his own ears.

"Do you believe in magic?" Bonnie asks, mimicking his tone and smiling at him. The vampire looks down at his hands, velvety palms and slender brown fingers appear in front of him. He turns abruptly to walk to the mirror. The pretty girl he chose as his meal is staring back at him. He opens his mouth, throwing his head back to see the canines come out. But no matter how long he waits for them to appear, they never do. He's become the prey, the piece of flesh to feast on. He's become the victim.

Actually he's as strong and deadly as he's always been, but the mind believes what the eyes see. Isn't it amazing?

"What did you do to me?" he asks angrily, turning around to stare at the amused expression on _his own face._

"Technically, the question should be, 'what am I about to do to myself?'" Bonnie explains calmly. "I think I'm a bit angry because of all the shit that happened in my life, and I am _a lot_ angry at myself," her hands moving in the air as she explains her mental process. "You know that game you do when you play at being someone else? I decided I should take that to another level, so I can work on my rage and you can pay for your crimes," she piques, sounding on the verge of maniacal. It's something she's picked from Damon, the cheery tone to say something horrible so that it will sound even creepier.

"You're a crazy bitch," he throws out, not sure it's a smart move but trying not to crumble in front of her. Thirty seconds in the same room and he's already powerless and scared shitless.

"Yeah, but I taste _really_ good," she replies with a shrug. "Vampires will stand in line for a drop from that neck," she says. "Aren't you flattered? You want attention, don't you?" Her voice lowers, and she realizes she's asking herself. It's not a crime to want to be noticed, but she's shushed that voice inside since she was a child, made herself out to be the strong one, the girl to rely on, so that people would come to her. In time she recognized her error, tried to learn to love herself, to demand respect and care. But now, it's different. Now she's greedy for the attention of someone she should consider to be her own brother, because if Elena has always been like a sister to her, what else could he be if not that? But sometimes, at night, she listens to his stupid messages and smiles in the dark. With some things she can only deal in the dark.

"I need to set my priorities right, and you're going to help me," she decides.

Her face looks hopeful in quite a silly way, the vampire is beginning to think there is a version of the story where he comes out of it alive, but deep down she wonders if her face ever looks like that at night, when she listens to Damon's silly messages.

"How?" he asks, ready to play the lapdog for her.

"Playing the role of your victims," she explains, watching as his mouth opens up and he throws his head back, trying to fight the pain at the base of his neck. There's a groan of pain that he tries to keep in, pressing his hands where he likes to sink his teeth. He's quite stubborn, trying not to lose face, but his resolution crumbles as soon as the pain pierces the juncture between his groin and his thigh.

He falls on his knees but she doesn't feel much satisfaction. She's not into pain and though he deserves this and much more, all she wants is for it to be over, for her heart to stop beating the wrong way in front of the wrong person. She wants to stop living always thinking of the person who cannot, because none of this is her fault and she's sacrificed enough.

Now she'll give her heart and they will be even, she thinks, her process disjointed.

"Let's stop doing this to ourselves, okay?" she asks. The vampire looks up at her with her face, nodding, and she lets the torture stop. The girl on her knees presses one hand to the middle of her chest, trying to regain her breath. Bonnie looks at her and repeats quietly, "Let's stop now." The confused look on the vampire's face turns vacant as Bonnie closes her fist in the air, squeezing the heart in his chest slowly, until she knows it has become a pulp.

He can hardly wheeze for a few seconds before he falls to the side, eyes open and empty, a rivulet of blood falling from a corner of the plump mouth of Bonnie Bennett.

"Thanks," she says, lowering herself to her knees while she's still wearing his form. "This was therapeutic," she adds uncaringly.

She stares at her own face for long moments, feels a tug of compassion for herself, _finally,_ and then his voice.

"Bonnie." It's sudden and hollow. She jerks and finds herself standing in front of him. He sounds so different, like someone has drained the marrow from his bones. It took her a moment to recognize him, for he looks so devastated she can hardly reconnect him to the hansome bastard she knows.

She didn't hear him come in, didn't realize what was happening, but when the notion sinks in, a horrible, sick part of her wants to see this, wants to know that he would be sad, that he would feel pain, that when the moment comes and she leaves, it will not only be bliss for him.

His unblinking eyes stare down at the body on the floor. She can't pick up a heartbeat coming from him and there's an unnatural bleakness in his eyes. She wonders what comes first, pain for the loss of her or relief because his time without Elena has come to an end. She wonders, she wants to know, and yet not. She's not ready to do this to herself, not ready to do this to him. He's her best friend and she's putting him into an impossible position and she can't do it.

"It's okay, I—" she begins but Damon looks at her horrified and hits her with a backhanded blow, making it all fade to black.

When she wakes up she's tied to a chair, gagged and dizzy.

"You're quite the sissy, can't even handle a caress," Damon says with that sinister cheeriness she knows so well, but with an empty quality to it that's new and cold. Trying to focus only makes the headache grow so it takes her a minute for her sight to clear.

"A little shit like you cannot be the one that put down Bonnie Bennett," he says, voice almost hissing. Bonnie blinks and he walks to her, getting down on his heels to look up at her. "She was supposed to be with me for the next sixty years, at least, now you'll be the lucky one that will take her place."

He is not making any sense.

"You'll be my pastime for the next few centuries, so you better toughen up my boy, because this will be one hell of a _long_ ride for you." He taps his finger on her rib, once, twice. The third time he hits so hard she can hear the breaking of the bone resounding inside her body.

"You're so tender… you're no fun at all," he says, "What kind of newbie vampire are you to be this tender?"

Her eyes water as she tries move her mouth enough to get rid of the foulard he's used to gag her, but it's useless. Damon is quite the expert when it comes to sequestrating people.

"Don't cry. Don't you dare," he hisses against her face, irritated when he notices her glossy eyes. "See that girl on the bed?" he asks, making her lift her gaze over his shoulder. The vampire she killed, still looking like her, is gently eased down on her own bed. When this is over she'll burn the mattress. "She was _… everything_ I had." He chokes on a bitter laughter. Her brain gets stuck on the words and it takes her a moment to follow. "My best friend, my favorite nuisance, my jiminy cricket, my drinking buddy, my plan for decrepitude… you name one, she was that for me, and you killed her." She can see a nerve pulling under his jaw as he tries to keep calm, not because he doesn't want to kill her, but because he wants the torture to last a long time. No matter how hard she looks at him she can't find a trace of his humanity. He's like barren earth, cracked open by lack of water. Bonnie has never been this scared before.

If only she could at least move her hands, if he would let her explain, she could so easily change back.

"See our problem? How do you fix a problem like this?" he presses. "There's nothing I can take away from you that can even the score. You might as well just have killed me… but _no_ , you went for the jugular. How smart of you. " he mocks.

Bonnie is hurting. She has trouble breathing properly as she looks at his empty eyes, as she thinks about what he plans to do to her. She can feel a sheet of cold sweat covering her skin. The foulard in her mouth has a strange taste, like warm copper. She can feel it on her tongue.

"I can smell her blood in your mouth," he says, staring right into her eyes before looking down at the hands tied up on the arms of the chair. "A witch's blood is a real delicacy, can't blame you for having such good taste, but…" he takes a finger and pushes it back until they both can hear the bone cracking. Bonnie jerks uselessly on the chair, this time she can't help her tears. "…you should have ordered your dinner elsewhere. I saw the signs on her, where you've bitten her… what else did you do to her?" She was fully dressed and yet she had stains of blood on her groin. He did not have the courage to undress her and see the truth for himself. In his head, when his guard was down and he let himself imagine undressing her, she was very much alive, she was willing, she was happy.

Her sight darkens from the pain, her breath becomes labored and she can hardly hear Damon's voice. He's trying not to let it break, thinking about what's been done to her.

But she's alive, and he's torturing her, and if she doesn't find a way stop this madness he'll never forgive himself.

"How can you be so fucking weak after a fresh feed? And the blood of a witch…. You should be charged like a damn battery!" Damon protests angrily, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her so hard she can hear her brain hit the walls of her skull.

The decadence of this vampire's body is taking away his fun, because this is supposed to last years, until he's done mourning Bonnie, until this fucking planet burns and rots, but if he keeps whining like that and hurting for every little thing, he'll die too soon on him.

There's a formication in Bonnie's brain. She can only wheeze behind her gag as he speaks. "You remember the Hammurabi code? _An eye for an eye_ , it says, and I'm a fan of that, so I think I'll rip the heart out of you… like you've done with me."

He pulls at her shirt, buttons flying to the floor, and watches as his fingers press against the pale skin, slowly, slowly sinking in, until he can feel the skin split under his white nails, the flesh warm under his fingertips, the bone giving way.

"You know what they say, _love kills._ "

There's a wave of energy that raises the hair on his skin and he stops his movement, looking at the vampire's face.

Something does not add up. Something is wrong. And though he wants nothing more than rip him apart piece by piece, he needs to know. He'll go back to his new hobby soon enough.

Damon takes off the gag from the vampire's face and uses a finger to raise his head so that he can look into his eyes.

"Tell me you are you. I could find it in me to dig you a hole where you can cuddle up with worms like you."

"V—", the blood is choking her, and she coughs. If he smells her blood again he'll get so angry she won't have a second chance to fix this. "Veri—"

"What?" Damon roars, lifting her head up by the hair and holding her gaze.

" _Veritatem revelandam…_ " she breathes, watching his expression change from anger to terror.

"What did you—" but he stops himself, stands to turn around and see a man dead on Bonnie's bed and his friend tied to a chair, crying though she's too confused to do anything else but repeat the Latin words over and over, stumbling upon them when he tries to touch her again.

Damon tears at his wrists and presses it to her mouth. Her tongue gets easily wet with his blood but it takes so much effort to swallow. She can see shadows in front of her, can feel her body being handled and moved and carried, can feel a foreign warmth against her skin which feels so cold and heavy, the feeling clashes and surrender against the piercing pain that punches holes through her lungs. It makes her huddle up in a place inside her head, so that Damon won't have to hear the excruciating sound of her agony.

"Bon, I—" He scoops her up gently, trying his best to not crumble as he holds her, ignores the staring people that watch as he takes away a bleeding girl. "I didn't know, I thought… I'm so sorry. It will be alright, I promise. It will be alright. You'll be fine." She can feel something warm falling on her face, traveling down on the cheek, and when it meets her lower lip it tastes like salt.

Every cell of her body is rebelling, she's crumbling in his hands, and hardly conscious, but it's the pain radiating from his voice, the strange comfort of a fallen tear that seem to burn her from the inside out.

#

Sounds arrive to his brain, muffled, like someone is holding his head underwater and he can't come up for air. His ears strives to hear the hissing sound of Bonnie's weak breathing as blood fills up her lungs like an impregnated sponge. He rushes through the door of the Salvatore boardinghouse and up the stairs and towards his bedroom. Caroline's alarmed voice is nothing more than a buzzing sound against his ear as she asks questions he can't even hear.

"What happened?" she asks in a shrilling voice, jerking up from the sofa, following him at a vampire speed to be at his side and check on her friend. "Damon, what the hell happened to Bonnie?" she asks again as he kicks his door open to lay Bonnie down on his bed. He puts her down gently and takes several steps back, hitting the dresser behind him, hands opening and closing rapidly. His breathing is shallow, and his jaw keeps on closing so hard he can hear the rhythmic sound the bone clicking.

"Bon?" Caroline calls, as Stefan enters the room to look at broken girl, "I can't believe- Who did this?" she asks, slipping easily into panic.

"Damon, what happened?" he asks, trying to be the reasonable voice they seem to need right now.

"I went to the dorm and… there was a vampire… and she was—" He cannot begin to fathom the idea, cannot form the idea that he has hurt her. It makes no sense at all.

"The dorm?" Stefan presses him, "Did anyone see—"

Damon nods his answer, never moving his eyes from Bonnie's body. His pupils are a needle as he waits for the bones from her ribcage to push up against her flesh and click back together, as he waits to see the broken skin ever so slowly healing, the greyish color of her complexion starting to turn back to its previous glow. What if it doesn't? What if for whatever reason she never recovers from this?

"I need to fix this," Stefan says.

"But Bonnie—" Caroline cuts in, turning to him, but Stefan ignores her to ask Damon, "You gave her your blood, didn't you?"

He nods again, one hand sinking into his black hair, unable to speak.

"Then she's going to be alright, give her time. She just needs some rest," he reassures her, "But right now we can't waste any time. He just carried away a girl covered in blood from a very crowed campus and probably left a corpse in her room. It won't take much for this to blow up in our faces if we don't fix this."

"Damon we need to compel everyone to forget and get rid of the body," he tries to tell his brother, but Damon just falls sitting on the dresser, something in him so numbed he looks like a doll with a broken circuit.

It's his style, putting his pent up energy to work, into some mission, whatever it might be. Push the emotion back down and act, move, destroy. But right now his instinct is lulling him into nothingness, because the alternative would be to make a slaughter of anyone crossing his path, because he wants answers he can't have, to questions he can't ask, and Bonnie's closed eyes are making him insane.

Stefan tries to get his attention by putting himself in front of his brother, cutting out the image of Bonnie and grabbing his shoulder with one hand. Damon's reaction is to pull it away with barely contained rage—"No!"—and walk away until he's standing in front of the wall opposite to the bed, head down and fist pressed to the wall. He leaves a bloody mark on the wood covering the wall. There's a turmoil that is trying to break him from the inside, the smell of Bonnie's spicy blood is making him lightheaded as his stomach clamps up on itself. He concentrates on slowing his breathing down, on keeping his emotions still. He wishes so hard he could turn it off right now. He punches the wall, presses his forehead against the cold concrete, tries to mute his conscience, but it screams, it screams with Bonnie's voice and he needs to turn it off, badly.

"What the hell happened to you?" Caroline's voice asks, appalled.

"I did this," he confesses, before turning slowly towards them.

"What?" Her tone is hesitant, weak. She blinks, not really understanding what he's saying. _Right?_ He wants to asks, _it makes no damn sense, right? I would never. You know I would never do this to her._

"I did this," he says again, trying to make sense of it.

"You said there was a vampire—"

"Yes, there was," he rushes to say, bringing his hands to sink into his hair, fingers intertwining on the top of his head. "There fucking was! And she was on the floor, _dead—"_

"You're not making any sense," Caroline spells, slowly.

"Nothing makes sense," Damon says in a whisper, eyes fixed on Bonnie, back glued to the wall like he's trying to protect her from himself. Well, too _fucking l_ ate for that!

"Listen, you stay here. Watch over her, okay?" Stefan asks without getting a reply. He can't hear them discuss about the sensibleness of leaving him alone with Bonnie, can't fathom the words let alone answer a question. He's too dazed by his own confession, because saying the words actually makes it feel all the more real.

His guilt, her dried up blood staining his skin, the fragility of her human body on his bed. Oh, he's wanted her for awhile in his bed. He can admit it now that there's nothing left to lose, not just for their innocent movie nights, but to show her what he can do to her body, using his hands and his mouth and every inch of him. He had to keep himself in check, pretend it was all because of the accidental abstinence that the blood would start to buzz in his veins whenever she was closer, that it was just pent-up need that kept him awake whenever she fell asleep next to him and dragged him to her, eyes fixated on the back of her head as he lay so close to her he could almost feel the texture of her clothes against his own, the roundness of her soft body against all of his edges. He played dumb because he didn't want to ruin it all. And look at them now. With the same hands that itched to caress her he's hurt her, almost crushed her between his fingers.

It's so ironic, isn't it? So fucking funny. And he rubs his hands over his face, drags them into his hair to pull at them and starts to laugh. It's empty and chilling and his eyes burn but he can't stop. He didn't mean to hurt her—he would rather kill himself— and yet he did. She _made_ him. Is this her idea of kinky? Toying with him like he's a fucking toy weapon? Why would she do this to him? Make him hate himself so much he can't stand to be in a room with himself.

The reflection from his mirror watches him in horror. It tears a growl out of him and he picks up a chair, throws it. The mirror hits the wall as the chair crashes to the ground. The glass shatters and falls, sparkling like glitter, making a soft sound on the carpet. It irks him, that sound, because his heart being torn to pieces makes a piercing, strident, agonizing sound and it should match it. This room, this whole house, this rotten world, should match him. It should fall apart, should open up and make a hole of everything around him.

"Why did you have to do this to me? Huh?" he screams at her, lying there, completely unaware of his pain, of the blood draining from his heart with every second of her silence " _Why?"_ he yells. He grabs at the column of his king sized bedroom, breaks it off of the whole structure. One splinter flies into his eye but he doesn't even notice as the bed limps on one side, the frame hitting the ground. In his rage he just turns to throw the wood column against the wall, but the outburst doesn't quiet his furious desperation. He grabs the floor lamp, ready to use it as a baseball bat against the stool at the foot of the bed when he hears it. A soft hum, a whimpering sound coming from the back of her throat, it freezes him immediately making him turn to her with eyes wide. Damon holds his breath, counts the seconds in his head as he waits for her to make another sound, just another. _Please_.

She seems to have mercy on him because this time it's clearer _, beautiful_ , like she's having a nice dream and everything's okay. The floor lamp slips from his hand and falls at his feet as he stands there.

It takes another twenty minutes for her lashes to tremble and her lids to lift from over her green eyes. She looks sleepy, brings her arms up like she's about to stretch but then rubs her eyes awake.

"Damon," she says, sounding a bit confused but unsurprised to wake up in his bed. It must be his shattered expression that shakes the memories into her. Her eyes grow wide and she pulls herself up, shocked, "Damon!" crawling to the edge of the bed to reach out to him, but he won't let her.

He thoughtshe would have been too scared to let him come close, instead it's the other way around.

"Don't," he says, jerking away brusquely. "Don't touch me. Don't _even_ touch me," he repeats through his teeth, looking at her with accusing eyes.

The very idea of her touching him makes his skin crawl with fear. He knows it's impossible, knows he would not hurt her again, but he thought he would never do it in the first place and yet his hands are dirty with her blood. It has dried under his fingernails, in the ruts of his fingerprints, in the spaces between his every thought.

"I can explain," she rushes to say, her expression is pained but to him, now, it feels like mockery.

"What?" he asks, bilious and humiliated, "That you get off on playing with my sanity? That you made me…" He can't even finish the sentence. He's done things, he's _said_ things, he can never take back. Damon bites his tongue before shaking the dolefulness away, to taunt her. "I guess that little shape shifting you did was one way to have some dick between your legs".

He sees her flinching but it's not enough. He wants to tear her apart, piece by piece, and see for himself if she's got any heart, if he's ever had a place in it, because right now he feels ashamed of the place she's got in his. It was too small to fit a raised middle finger and she's made space for herself and her whole damn wardrobe.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she begins, getting off the bed to walk to him.

"You didn't" he denies, so vehemently he could almost believe it himself, "I don't give a _fuck_ about you. You know how many times I've been on the verge of killing you since the day I've met you? But how long I let you breathe is directly proportional at how deep Elena will let me go into her, and that's something I take at heart, baby" he says, scornful, not letting her close the space between them.

"I'm sorry," she tries to say, the breath breaking in her chest, trying hard not to let her eyes water up, "I was just… I don't know, I was just… trying to…kill it" the last two words are so weak he can only hear them because of his vampire senses.

"Time?" he asks, with a sneer, "Your sex appeal? Because I assure you, we already had a funeral for that."

She lowers her eyes, smiling sadly, before offering, "My guilt, maybe…?" and raising her eyes to his. "Myself…?" and she drags the word like she's pulling it out from its burial site.

"You can't even kill yourself properly," he replies darkly, "Try a razor blade next time, or a rope. The old solutions are always the best."

She smiles at that, like he's made a good joke, and then starts laughing, with teary eyes that she wipes away with the heel of her hand.

"Don't cry," he orders, hissing between his teeth.

"You can lash out at me for the next sixty years." A tear falls on her cheek and she wipes it with the back of her hand.

"You think I'll stick around?" he asks, trying to mock her.

"I'm sorry I've hurt you-" she repeats, continuing to make him angry.

"Stop _fucking_ crying!" he screams, eyes wide, a disconcerted and almost panicked look upon his face.

"Damon, please-" And she's twisting the knife now, openly crying as she looks at him, making him feel like she's peeling the skin from him with her immaculate fingernails. It angers him that she can make him hurt this easily, angers him that he's fucking happy that she's alive to torture him. She drives him crazy and she needs to _stop_. "You are my best friend and I just—" but now the words feel like she's spitting in his face.

Damon rushes to her, annulling the space between them in a flash, gripping her arms so tight it stop the blood circulation and slamming her on the bed behind her, pressing her down with his hardened body. His veiny dark eyes stare down at her, the black blood expanding on his face like the roots of a centuries old tree.

"You wanna die?" he asks, maniacal, deranged, crazy in love with her,"So help me God, I'm gonna kill you myself" he promises, gripping her so tightly he's waiting for the sound of the breaking bones. One hand closes up around her throat, making her feel the power he has over her life but still letting her barely breath. Under him she arches up, opening her mouth to let air in – the pain is so strong she can't even breathe – and his mouth covers hers. To suffocate her, to mark her. The brush of her breast against his chest is too irresistible to think straight, and he takes her mouth like a starving man, tongue sinking and dominating. One hand leaves her arm to grip her knee and open her legs, making space for himself. His erection is hard between her legs, and he thrusts down violently, using his member like a threat, like a weapon. His hungry mouth breaks the skin of her lower lip and the blood mixes with her dried tears and the taste of it seems to clear his mind, making him kiss her slowly, and leave her mouth gently.

Bonnie blinks up at him, llooking suddenly paralyzed, insecure of what's truly happening. Maybe a little scared. He shakes his head, hands fisting at the sides of her head, jaw tightening. He looks away ashamed, presses his face down in the crook of her neck, lightening the pressing of his lower body.

Damon scoffs at himself. "I've done it again," he says, laughing bitterly, "I've hurt you again, haven't I?" but he's not waiting for an answer as he peels himself away from her.

"You didn't," she says, arms reaching out to stop him from leaving her. He's too strong and her shaky fingers can't do a thing, "Don't go."

He's just ignoring her, almost detached from reality, walking towards the door and leaving destruction behind.

"You said I was _everything_ you have!" she screams, accusingly, freezing his steps. His hand stops on the knob of the door.

"I say lots of stupid things," he bites back peeking up over his shoulder, trying to keep up his uncaring facade and opening the door.

"Don't run from me!" The door slams closed, knob escaping his grip almost burning the skin.

"Open the door," he says, as calmly as he can.

"No."

"I'm not joking," he warns her.

"Me neither."

"Let me go," he commands, meeting blazing eyes.

"Try and make me," she dares him, sitting in the middle of his limping bed, disheveled, chin high and looking so proud.

"You think you can keep me in here?" he asks, trying to sound distant, "I will make you open the damn door, the easy way or the hard way," he explains with a sneer.

"I'd rather take the hard way, then," she replies, unfazed. She knows every single one of the ways he knows to guard himself and she's not letting him pull away now.

Damon is mystified as he looks at her, tilting his head to the side, "You don't know what you're saying," he says, reasoning aloud, "You're asking for trouble."

"You've been trouble from the moment I met you," she replies with a shrug. "It never stopped me before," she adds, "It won't start now," she assures him. "I fucked up. I've put you in a horrible position. What happened today was not your fault, none of it was," she spells, for the words to sink into his brain, "I wasn't trying to play with you. I just… was looking for some sort of catharsis, I guess."

"Why?" he asks, voice rough with frustration, "Because you didn't kill yourself in the name of your friendship with Elena?" he asks exasperated by her behavior, "Because you feel guilty about the fact that I'm living my life without her and I actually _enjoy_ it?"

She swallows hard, biting the inside of her mouth, and stares at him holding her breath.

"Because, if given the choice again, I'd still choose you, though I want to _strangle_ you right now?" he presses her.

Bonnie tries not to smile at that, tries not to let it go to her head, because that would only lead her to doom. She shakes her head, confessing under her breath, "You scare the shit out of me."

He sniggers bitterly, rubbing one hand over his face, before asking, "What it is that scares you so much, huh? I almost killed you today and you didn't bat an eye but I tell you I'd still put you first and you almost have a panic attack on me!" he screams.

"Exactly!" she screams back, "Because you're doing your best to be a good friend, and I know you love Elena _so much_ , but sometimes I just… the way you look at me…" she shakes her head, like she wants to shake off the feeling choking her whenever she meets his eyes. "I know you love her," she repeats, trying to convince herself.

"You know?" he asks softly, peeling her fingers away from her eyes, so that she'll see him, kneeling on the ground, between her knees. "What it is that you know? Huh?" Damon asks, his eyes fixed into hers as he lowers his mouth to kiss one knee left naked by her shorts, like he's soothing the pain of a kid that's scraped their skin. She gasps silently at that, the electricity of the contact driving straight between her legs.

"Tell me," he presses gently, "Tell me what a great job I'm doing at being a good friend, never thinking of you when I'm in my bed," he murmurs, one hand reaching for her face, cupping it under the jaw, long fingers touching the back of her head, guiding her down towards his face, to meet her halfway and speak against her mouth, brushing his lips against hers, tickling and enticing her, teeth trapping her lower lip gently. "Tell me how good I am at loving someone that's not you, because my blinding modesty won't let me notice." He smirks almost timidly in the useless effort to not scare her away with the desire in his eyes, in the way his fingers lead her towards his mouth. It takes him little effort to open her lips with his and meet the warmth of her mouth. "Tell me how much I don't love you at all, Bon," tongue soft against her own and over her name, "In details," he adds, pushing up on his legs and pressing her back down on the bed, trapping her under the length of his body.

"If we don't stop now," she says, breathing hard and stealing her lips away from him, "We'll ruin everything." Yet her knees drive up, pushing against his sides to keep him close.

"Too fucking late for that," he groans, as he feels the welcoming warmth between her legs through the layers of their clothes. "This got ruined the first time I woke up next to my girlfriend and wondered where you were…" he murmurs against the skin of her cheek, on the curve of her jaw, along the column of her neck. "If you were thinking of me…" he adds before taking her mouth in a wet kiss, "Were you, Bon?"

"Probably not," she denies him, moaning against his mouth and making him grin.

" _Ouch_ ," he groans, faking disappointment, letting his hand slip under her shirt. "That hurts, Bon," he moans, pinching her nipple over the lace of her bra, making her gasp for air.

"Damon, we shouldn't—" There's still some reason left in her, trying to pull the reins on it, corner her into safety, into stillness, deluding her into thinking she can still survive this unscathed, but he licks her lower lip, stealing away the remaining words.

"You think I'm going to let you go? Now that you're finally where I want you?" he asks, sounding genuinely amused, eyes shining playfully, looking every bit like a predator that's about to feast on his reluctant prey. "Think again, Bon-Bon," he suggests, fleetingly nibbling on her chin, one finger drawing circles around her nipple, still not surpassing the barrier of her bra. "You wanted to die?" he asks, pulling her shirt over her head. "I can make you die multiple times a day, and every night, all night," he promises, slipping his hands under her back to unfasten her bra, easily taking it off.

When Bonnie tries to cover her naked breast with her arms he just moves them and hooks them around his neck. "If you really want to stop this, one of us must die. What will it be? Huh?" The back of his hand caresses the outline of her round bosom. "A little death for you, or a permanent one for me. Your choice, Bon." He caresses her name with his tongue before lowering his mouth to give the same delicious treatment to her turgid nipple. The feeling drives straight between her legs making her rock her hips under his and Damon accepts the silent invitation, opening his mouth in a wet kiss, sucking slowly on it while his hands steadily open the button of her shorts and drives the zipper down. He lifts up on his knees to slowly pull the shorts along her toned legs, observing attentively the white lace panties, darkened in the middle by her arousal, the smell of it titillating his nose along with his other senses.

She breathes in slowly, nervously fisting her hands as he hooks his fingers into the sides of her panties and drives them down and away from her sex.

"The moment I taste you," he says, looking straight into her eyes, "You'll be fucked," he grins sardonically. "Pun intended," he adds. "There will be no going back. No second thoughts. No stupid remorse. God knows I've been playing the good boy long enough and it doesn't work anymore." She bites her lower lip as he talks and places his palms against her knees. "Remember what I said? About you, my best friend, my favorite nuisance, and all that jazz?" he asks. "It didn't seem appropriate to the tone of the tragic moment," he jokes, trying not to be dragged down by the vivid memory of what he felt when he thought he had lost her. "So I left out _my only sexual fantasy_ , _the thing I want to do every day of my fucking life_ ," he spells for her. "I went so far as to stroke myself while you were in bed with me, asleep and unsuspecting, because you drove me _crazy_. And you can think of me as a sick dog, and put me down like one if you wish, because I can't go back now, you understand it, don't you?" he asks with a grin as she moves her mouth but makes no sound. His expression slowly becomes a soft smile. "If the dead rise up tomorrow, not even that could tear me away from you. _Nothing_ will."

He'll take all the guilt, if he can take all of her too.

Damon pushes her knees back towards her chest, her sex appears in a delectable display in front of him, and he lowers himself to speak against the sensitive flesh. "This is my place," he says, before giving one long lick to the seam of her femininity. Her head clouds with raw desire, every doubt or hesitancy has been gnawed away by his words, by his twisted confession, by his romantic aggression. Bonnie sinks her fingers into his jet black hair as he buries his face in the sweet valley between her thighs, teasing her intimate lips apart, the smell of her making him high. The coarse tongue he has used to speak to her of his desire and of his love caresses her clit with devotion, nudging it back and forth at a slow, tortuous pace. He eyes her over the mound of her sex to spy on her bliss and her aching desire.

"Damon… please…" she begs him, moaning his name the way she did in all his fantasies. His tongue becomes more vigorous, parting her and rubbing her and penetrating her.

"Oh God…" She bucks under him and he must use an open hand over her stomach to keep her down. Her urgency makes him smile against her hot flash and he takes his pleasure in teasing her to orgasm with his tongue and the constant rubbing of two fingers against her entrance.

"You're… going… to make me… come…" When she starts to reach her peak he lets his fingers slip inside her, pumping hard into her damp depths to make her trembling walls accept the intrusion. It draws out the feeling of falling down in a way that makes her arch up and hold on to his hand and hair.

"Am I?" he asks her, smug, faking ignorance.

Her words only spur the urgency to make that happen, have her come at the mercy of his fingers and mouth. To have the taste of her filling his mouth.

"Oh… Damon, fuck… Daaamon" it's so good to hear her call his name as she comes. He has to close his eyes to stop himself from coming just at the sound of her voice, of the wet sound his fingers make as they drive up inside her.

Damon diligently licks her all the while, one hand caressing her belly as she comes down from her high, the other patting her sex, cheek resting against her thigh as he looks up at her face, at the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest. And he does his best to ignore the pulsing need inside his jeans. When she finally stops trembling he crawls upon her like a feral animal, nose brushing against her skin as he does so, driving up between her breast and to the base of her neck, to smell the sweat of her and her release.

Damon doesn't crave the sex only, but the closeness, the discovery of her as a lover, the new, beautiful Bonnie he has been denied for so long.

"I want to know what it's like to be inside you," he says as she breathes erratically, looking up at him. "In your mind," he says, brushing the hair away from her forehead, "In your heart," he adds, one finger tracing the contour of her nipple, making her sigh under him. "In your cunt" he finishes, crude and sincere, the way only Damon can be.

Bonnie doesn't say anything, but she nods and takes the hem of his shirt to help him take it off and then lowers her hands to open his jeans. Damon just watches her, keeping his hands flat on both her sides, and when she takes him out gently he sucks his teeth. She guides him between her thighs, and he follows her, titling his hips the way she wants him. When skin touches skin he just teases her sex with the smooth size of his erection, slowly so, to give himself enough time to calm down and yet tantalize her, and as he does so her hands slip into his jeans, gripping his ass.

"I thought… you wanted to be inside me…" she moans, breathing in the scent of him.

"Say you want that too," he murmurs against her mouth, without kissing her. But she only nods. "Say it, Bonnie. I want to hear you say it," he repeats, the head of his member slightly parting her in a sweet promise.

"I want you inside, Damon," she complies, still slightly embarrassed at voicing her desires. "I want you," she repeats, accepting the full truth of it.

And as he pushes his hardness between her intimate lips, as he sinks down into the hot core of her, as she learns the feeling of every solid inch of him, Bonnie confesses, "You're everything," recognizing the feeling that made him say those words, accepting that they are in this together, that they'll always be in this together.

"Fuck, Bonnie." Her words burn away his nerves, takes away his self-control, and he thrusts his hips flush against hers, starting a riding rhythm that shakes the limping bed. Her heartbeat reverberates through his ribcage as she holds him close and she pants against his lips as their forehead touch.

The way she accepts him, the way she takes him, it's perfect.

Bonnie is tight, hugging every hard curve of him, and, "Damon, Damon, Damon," she says, like she can't get enough of his name, of him. Like she can't believe they are finally together, finally one, though his wide girth is uncomfortable. Damon kisses her mouth and concentrates on a rhythm that's going to ease her into another building orgasm, slowly working himself in and out of her wetness at a calculated pace. The bed shakes threateningly under them but they cannot stop.

"You're my everything, Bon," he says, hammering away into her depth, hugging her close, sharing the weight of his body with her, "I want no one else," he tells her in between his thrusts, "You're mine."

"Yes." She's now taking part in his rhythm, rocking herself against him, tilting her lap to open herself to his plunging in a way that allows him to go deeper and he groans, stuck between a moan of lust and one of joy. It's so consuming, the lust he feels, the stir he feels at hearing her _yes_ , the need to have her close so overwelming that he just burrows his arms under her back, to hug her close and crush her soft chest with his hard pectoral muscles, like he could engrave himself into her, shape her so that no one will ever think they can take his place in her life. His pumping quickens and she moans loudly as her body responds with a beautiful clenching. He kisses her, hard, steals her breath away to give her his own, grinds his member into her before starting to hammer into her in short thrusts, again, and again, and again, feeling the walls contract on him in a delicious way that makes the base of his cock tingle. The way her entire body shakes brings him down, too, into a spiral he knows well and yet not at all, because this is Bonnie, and Bonnie is his personal, long-awaited, long-lasting discovery.

His most innocent, most lustful desire.

#

 **Final Note:** I started this months ago but it took me awhile to figure it all out. I might possibly add another chapter, but I'm not sure about it. As usual, my sex scenes do not satisfy me (pun intended), but I'm doing my best to get better at them.


	2. Chapter 2

Damon rolls off of her after long minutes spent peppering kisses on her nose and eyebrows and lips, and he smiles as he turns her face, holding her delicate jaw between his fingers. Her green eyes are sparkling with happiness, though she won't say the words. With time, he thinks, he'll help her come out from the iron shell she's built around herself, and he'll enjoy the little concession she makes for him and mark the day on the calendar because it will be memorable.

"This is amazing," he says, brushing the tip of his index finger over the cupid bow of her swelled lip, "And I'm not talking about the sex, because the sex has been _stellar,_ especially considering this was only the introduction."

Bonnie rolls her eyes at his arrogance. "You have fifty/fifty of the jury set on that score," she mocks him before playfully biting at his finger. If she concedes to him, now, she will never hear the end of it.

"The other fifty was too busy chanting my name to do the required math," he quips.

"Whatever," she replies, faking an annoyed sigh and looking away. She feels like she made the ultimate error. He was fucking cocky before – and kinda adorable at that – now he will be outright impossible.

Bonnie can feel his eyes on her face, the fact that they are laying naked on a limping bed and she has just started to learn how it feels to have him inside is something strange to reconnect with, but exhilarating and beautiful. Of the _too good to be true_ sort, and all she wants to do is get to enjoy this while it lasts.

His eyes have a kind of new sweetness to them as he looks at her with a tender fascination, his head tipped to the side like he's watching something he's never seen before. Her cheeks warm up and she can feel a thin, piercing pain in her chest.

"What?" she asks, embarrassed and hesitantly happy.

"You should marry me," he says, making her giggle at his impression of a smitten lover.

"You're such an idiot," she accuses him before his eyes and the breathy tone he used start to draw on her, "What?" she asks again, suddenly sobered up.

"You should—" but before he can finish his sentence she slaps his hand away from her face, sitting up on the bed, shaking her head. "Oh my God!" she groans, pained, hands briefly covering her face. She's so ashamed of herself.

"I should have known!" she protests angrily, uncaring of the confused look on Damon's face. She's the one getting the shortest end of the stick, here, and she can't worry about his feelings too. "My God!" she exclaims, using one arm to cover her breasts as she stands from the bed—trying to avoid the fragments of glass from the broken mirror sprinkled on the floor—to retrieve her garments, scattered at the foot of the king size bed.

"What now?" Damon asks, watching her pick her panties off the parquet. The curve of her ass as she bends over would be more distracting if her disposition was different.

"I've been so stupid!" She hurriedly tries to dress herself.

"You're not making any sense, you know that?" He rushes in front of her so she won't be able to ignore him any longer. His rapid movements creates a gush of wind that makes her shiver, her nipples reacting by stiffening slightly and she puts on her t-shirt to try to cover her body's reaction.

"I'm making all the sense in the world," she mutters, her breathing increasing with her panic, "I ruined everything—"

Damon cups her face the moment she emerges from the neck of her t-shirt, trying to pull her closer. "What are you even talking about?" He's unabashedly naked, disgustingly beautiful, so _close_ and smelling so _good_.

"I should have never trusted you!" she screams with pained eyes, hands wrapped around his wrists, trying to pull his hands away to no avail. "This is all a fucked up reaction to my _death_. You were scared, and what you felt made you _think_ that you love me but in fact all this is adrenaline and a sick coping mechanism and I've been a fool to trust you!"

His blue eyes search her face for a brief moment before he sniggers at her words. "A coping mechanism," he says, nodding, tone clearly mocking her. "I didn't even know I was _that_ sensitive, but it all makes sense now."

She'd like to believe otherwise but she can't let herself. Her instinct was right from the beginning. Damon can truly only ever love Elena, and this was really too good to be true, and the joke's on her for believing differently, for hoping she had a chance, for a little while.

And who in their right mind would pop that question after being together for a grand total of an hour, orgasms included? He hadn't even ever asked Elena something like that, how could he ask that to _her_?

"You don't realize it, now," she insists, trying to shake her head though he's got her face trapped between his large hands, "but tomorrow, or in a week, when this incident becomes just another bump in your centenarian road, and you've gotten over the shock, then you'll see and—"

His reply is to just kiss her reluctant mouth. "I'm shocked," he murmurs against her humid lips, tongue plunging into the heat of her hesitant mouth as she tries to free herself from his hold by pulling at his wrists without being able to move him an inch, "Comfort me."

"You just felt guilty—" she tries to explain before he recaptures her mouth with his own.

"Every now and then," he confirms, before kissing her again. "Mostly after a very dirty thought," he grins unapologetically, letting her take his hands off her face only to grip her waist and drag her against his chest. "Wanna hear about them?" He's amused as she presses her palms against his defined pectoral muscles and pushes him away with all her strength.

"No."

He lets her, just because he enjoys the chase.

Bonnie runs to the door, hands gripping the knob ready to leave the room in underwear and a wrinkled t-shirt, but as the door opens Damon's hand pushes it closed again, towering over her from behind, mouth curved into a smile next to her ear.

"We already did this part." His tone is quiet and intimate. "Remember?" he asks, one arm stretched out to keep the door closed, the other hooked around her waist to keep her close.

"Open the door." She tries to sound threatening when all she feels is scared. She can already feel her reason crumbling away under his hot breath and she'd like to cry. She would if she wasn't so proud.

"No," he replies with a grin.

"I'm serious," she says, breathlessly, cheeks reddened with desire and humiliation. She was better at this. A couple of orgasms ago she was a master at this, at telling him no and putting him in his place. Why can't she do it now?

 _This is my place,_ he had said while licking her femininity.

"And you think I'm not?" he asks, breathy, lustful, nose brushing tenderly against the curve of her ear. "You _hope_ I'm not?" he asks again. His lips close around her lobe, teeth gently pulling at the soft flesh, making her lash tremble and her stomach fall.

"Remember that time, years ago, when I asked you to dance with me and you flat out refused me? Speaking to me like I was dirt under the sole of your shoes?" he asks, wondering cheerily along memory lane as he leans his body into her. "No one refused me. _Ever_. That was the first time I wanted to kiss you."

"Because you were always a narcissistic bastard and you wanted to prove your point," she retorts, trying to force her brain into working her way out of his charm. She could do it then, she even hated him then, she just needed a little of that attitude right now.

She can hear the sound of his smile, the awkward happy sigh because she knows him so well and it's absurd.

"Nothing ever made me happier than being able to aggravate you—"

"Because you enjoy the attention," she tries to rebut.

"—and kill your boyfriends."

This is absurd. He's trying to worm his way into her head and he's succeeding, but she can't be that stupid again. "You didn't have feelings for me."

"Oh, no, not exactly those kind of feelings, _yet_ ," he replies, amused, "It was some sort of territorial instinct that made you the epicenter and the target of all my bad moods," he admits, kissing her cheek with an innocent peck, like a child asking for forgiveness, before rocking himself against her backside to make her feel his hardness.

"Damon—" she tries protesting, but must bite her lower lip to keep herself from moaning. The flimsy fabric of her panties and her t-shirt are the only barriers separating her from Damon and what he can make her feel, but she needs to stick to her refusal.

"Remember how unbearable I was when we were alone on the other side? I wanted to come back _so bad_ , I couldn't wait to come back, because if I were to stay another day stuck there with you I wouldn't have been able to stay faithful."

"I was the only one around and you're not one for celibacy," she reasons, trying to squirm out of his hold only to rub herself against him. She can hear his deep groan, can feel his nose brush against her shoulder when he lower his head to breath her in, and her breath heaves in an euphoric panic as she grows wet between her legs.

"All those times you witchy-migrained me?" he says, fingers playing with the embroidered band of her lace panties, "Those were like foreplay to me… my veins popped, and after, the blood rushed down faster than if you had shoved your hands into my jeans."

"A physical side effect that has nothing to do with me."

"I beg to differ, though you'll be doing most of the begging today, Bon." He grins, one finger sliding past the elastic band of her panties and brushing over the mound of her sex.

"We can't do this." Her voice is trembling, most of her attention fixated on the exact point the tip of his finger can reach, so close and yet not close enough.

"We already did," he reminds her. "I gave you a choice, and you made it. And loyal girls like you stick by their choices."

"This cannot happe—"

"Why won't you believe me? Huh?" he asks, sex pressed against the plump curve of her ass, the dipping sweetness of her back. "Why is this so difficult to accept for you?" He would sound almost sad if only his body wasn't so hauntingly hard. If only she didn't know better. He's been a rollercoaster of innocent pecks and dirty revelations, taking the ground out from under her feet whenever she felt like she could control the moment.

"You asked me to marry you!"

"I didn't _ask_ ," and highlights the word by sinking his hand down into her panties and penetrating her with one long finger, "technically speaking," Damon adds, after basking in her gasp.

"Oh God," Bonnie shuts her eyes. She doesn't need them to picture his horrid, grinning mouth as she opens her hands over the surface of the closed door to hold herself up and provide the leverage she needs to rock herself back on his finger, _if_ she wanted to rock herself back on his finger, which she wants to do so bad she could cry.

"That would require a man to get on his knees," he explains, using his other hand to pull at her panties "I'm old fashioned like that," he says, sliding down against her, kissing his way down her spine as he kneels behind her and guides the flimsy fabric down. He grips her flesh with one hand while he changes the angle of penetration of the other, and uses his tongue to lick her, bottom up.

It takes her by surprise, his intrusion, and Bonnie opens her eyes to look down between her now-spread legs.

"The first time I thought of you as my wife we were fighting over which laundry soap to take from that supermarket we always went to," he explains, breath hitting her sex as he watches his finger work her and easily adds another. His voice is husky, lowered as he speaks. "I thought I could love that hellish hole of a deserted town if you were to marry me," he says quietly, to not overcome the wet, slippery sound of her body giving in to him. "That's what made me lose it. That's why I wanted to come back so bad," he says, kissing the curve of her ass before standing again, his member finding her needy humidity, caressing it with his length in a teasing slide. Forward and back, forward then back again, until she's so enraptured by the promise of him that her hips start to undulate back and forth.

"I thought If we could leave that place I would be able to go back to before I loved you," he says, mouth at her ear once again, tip of him barely inside as he takes the hem of her shirt and pulls the offending clothing up and away from her.

"I tried to cheat myself. But there's no going back, Bonnie. I don't think it ever existed, that _before,"_ he explains, voice amazed as Bonnie bends forward a little more to be able to look back at him. His eyes hold her own. There's something burning behind the blue that stares at her as he stays still, letting her sink back on him. One hand is holding her waist, the other is playing with the loose ends of her hair, heel of his hand pressed against the middle of her back as his fingers wrap around curly strands.

He's telling her the truth, she knows, but she doesn't know how to handle that, how to accept his feelings and her own and a future as good as she never imagined it could be. So she tries to let her body do the talking instead, pushes herself back on his erection, but the hand gripping her side prevents her from having more of him. Just the large tip and his blue eyes, that's all she got.

"Please," she says, pleading. " _Please,_ " she repeats. _I'm sorry I doubted you,_ she means to say. And he knows. He must know that.

"Now, if you'd do me the honor of having me, Bon…" he growls, pushing his length into her a little more before retracting, "Say _yes._ "

She tries once again to shove herself back on him, "Damon," she begs again, almost on the verge of crying, the need so insistent in her mind and between her legs she's tempted to use her own fingers to relieve the tormenting emptiness tearing at her, but she needs both her hands to keep herself up or she'll fall miserably down on the floor.

"Have me, Bonnie," he urges her, the pulsating tip of him a reminder of what he can give her. " _Have me_ , as long as we both shall live, so deep inside that you don't know where I end and you begin," he promises, every muscle of his body tense and hard and large as his eyes pin her to the closed door. "We're made for each other," he insists. Her heart slams against her ribcage, trying to push the word out of her.

"Say you'll have me," her eyes tear up from the effort it takes not to convulse around the solid, throbbing hint of his shaft, and he leans into her, kissing the curve of her spine, dragging one hand down until he can hold himself and use the tip of his length to rub her lips insistently, "Say it."

"Yes," she surrenders, "Yes." She repeats it when he doesn't immediately sink into her. He groans against her skin, relieved, jubilant, and one hand reaches up to her breast as he thrusts forward and eases himself past her soaked lips.

"Damon, _yes_." She can't care about anything else but the way he takes up space in her needy body, into her human life, into a heart that belonged to him from the start. Bonnie shudders, whispering his name in awe as he fills her tight walls to the brim.

It makes her panic, the feel of him withdrawing from her, and she almost whines at the loss, but his arm presses against her breast — palm cradling her stiff nipple — reassures her that he won't leave her hanging, not now. Damon slides his hips back, guiding his cock in reverse inside the wet warmth of her, only to thrust forward, burying his length deeper into her core.

His body against hers feels like a bow, pulled to the extreme and ready to strike its enemy, and yet Damon takes her with slow and deep strokes. The way he eases his wet erection inside her, an anguish so sweet she wants to die around him. Her fingers contract and twitch on the door's surface. She'd like to turn her head over her shoulder and steal a look at him but she has to concentrate on breathing before she passes out.

"You have no idea…" His warm breath hits the nape of her neck, "What it feels like… to love you," and Damon begins sucking on her pulse point as he pumps himself slowly inside of her, igniting smalls shivers that make her tremble into his hands.

"Tell me," she encourages him, pushing back on his member. She wants to hear him and feel him and be filled with him until her entire universe shrinks down to Damon and never goes back. She wants the mark of his lips on her skin, the bite of his fingertips on her hips, the stretch of his gorgeous length inside her.

"You," he says, talking against her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo until his lungs are filled with it, "Make me feel like a _man_ ," he grunts, as he buries into her once again. "I want to live with you, and die for you, and pull your leg and eat you out," he says, savoring the buildup. "You won't regret it," he promises, fingers rolling the tip of her stiff nipple to bring her pleasure to an agonizing level as he pumps a little faster.

She wants to hold him so bad, but in this position she can only take what he gives; so instead, she clenches her walls tight about his large throbbing shaft, closing her eyes to try to listen to the wet sound of his length forcefully pushing into the tight core of her. "I know," she says.

Both of his hands grip at her hips now, and she knows she's finally made him snap, ready to take her harder, faster, deeper. Bonnie looks back for this, to see his face, the want naked and raw across his handsome features as he thrusts himself into her. It takes the breath out of her, forcing her to breathe though her mouth. His gentle bruising drives her body making her angle the way he wants her, burying himself so deep for a moment she fears the consequences of it.

Bonnie sucks in a short breath and throws her head back as she adjusts to the throbbing size of him. Once she's learned his merciless rhythm, his hands reach for her breasts, massaging them in a roughly. It makes her feel all the more present, all the more needed, and she moans as he uses his fingers to tug at her nipples, driving hard inside of her. Through the grip on her breasts he guides her upward, straightening her against him as he continues his relentless assault on her cunt. Her knees are so weak from all the sensations he's burying her in that it's only his strong arms that keep her up.

"Say you love me," he tells her, almost orders her, and when she doesn't he flips her around, her legs latching around his hips on their own as the word spins around her. "Say you love me," he repeats, looking up into her eyes as he slams himself inside her once again, like he's making a point.

He wants to hear it, he _needs_ to hear it, and "I—" she wants to say it, but his pumping breaks the formation of words inside her head. Bonnie bites her lower lip, looking down into his eyes as her fingers try to grip his naked, tense shoulders. One arm is holding her, crushing her breasts against his chest while the other cup her ass. The friction is heavenly, and he thrusts up repeatedly, and hard.

She shuts her eyes at the violent pleasure, nods frantically, "I…" before letting the scattered words leave her mouth. "…I love …you."

"Look at me," he hisses, and she obeys out of the need she feels to please him, to make him feel as important as he is making her feel. Bonnie can't help but moan at the intensity of his eyes, of his urgent ramming, and she leans to kiss his mouth.

Their kiss is as hungry and needy as their frantic fucking. They'll have a lifetime to make love and take it slow, right now is about marking each other, about making space in each other's lives and never leaving it. She feels the pulsing start, the gentle and inevitable throbbing of her walls as they start contracting around him. He uses two fingers to rub her clit, together with his member, pushing her over the edge, making her whimper in lecherous approval.

But, if he doesn't come with her, she thinks, she'll be robbed. She'll be robbed of something that belongs to her. So she presses her lips to his ear, uses her sweet, quivering voice to beg him. "Come inside me," she beckons him, "I need you to come inside me."

The resistance of her tightening walls offers a vigorous stroke to his large shaft and he presses her down on the limping bed to focus his attention on the sole purpose of slamming himself into her, to grant her wish.

" _Damon_ ," she moans, dripping around him as he snaps irrevocably, bucking his hips harder and nibbling at her pretty chin. Damon grunts at the mirrored need of her — translated into words and looks and a promise she'll have to keep — and spends himself inside her body, shameless and unabashed and happy.

And as they both come down from their shared high, breathing hard and still tangled in each other, Damon pushes back a strand of hair from her forehead and knows. "You'll look beautiful in white."

She'll probably make him fall in love with her again.


End file.
